


The Trial of Lambert

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Series: Linens-verse [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Consent Issues, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feelings Realization, First Time, I shook a witcher and intergenerational trauma fell out, Kissing, M/M, Pederasty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: Lambert demands his Trial of the Linens. Geralt does his best, and Eskel does the mopping up.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Series: Linens-verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887142
Comments: 90
Kudos: 438





	The Trial of Lambert

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever write a story where Geralt sleeps with someone other than Eskel which is not also about how Geralt and Eskel are soulmates? Signs point to no.
> 
> Thanks to Hobbit and Gavilan for beta, and to everyone who's encouraged this!!

Geralt made sure, after his first winter back, not to arrive at Kaer Morhen on either a Wednesday or a Sunday. Sure, everything had turned out well enough, giving Micha his first trial while he was fresh off the road. But if he had the choice, he'd rather have a day or two to catch his breath first.

The fourth winter Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen, he came on a Monday. He'd deliberately tarried in a little village not far from one of the passes, spending Sunday night there though he could have pushed on, just to be sure about arriving on a Monday.

He still wasn't surprised, somehow, when Lambert came stalking up to him in the courtyard before he'd even gotten Roach's saddlebags off. He wasn't a kid who had any interest in letting Geralt catch his breath; from the determined set of his shoulders, Geralt guessed this was important. There was a fresh crop of boys who'd all be up for their first Trial of the Linens this winter--maybe Lambert was going to give him the word that one of them didn't want to play, or recruit Geralt to be somebody's first.

What did surprise Geralt was when Lambert came to a halt in front of him, jutted his chin out aggressively, and said, "I want you to fuck me this year."

Geralt didn't say anything, just studied Lambert for a minute.

It definitely _was_ Lambert, and Geralt couldn't see any sign that he was under some Axii influence from one of the other boys pulling a prank. While he was still looking, he heard Eskel's footsteps approaching, and looked over with a grin and a rush of warmth in his chest that he wasn't going to think too hard about.

"Hey, you're home," Eskel said, returning his smile just as brightly. "Guess that means I'm off the hook, kid?"

"You--" Geralt looked back at Lambert, who was still looking obstinate but also flushing a little--with embarrassment, Geralt thought, not excitement. "He talked to you about this already? You're sure he's not--" Geralt flicked a finger in the shape of the sign. 

Eskel shook his head, planting himself at Geralt's side and folding his arms across his chest. "Oh, no, this is all his own doing as far as I can tell. Go on, Lambert, tell Geralt what you want."

"I want my Trial of the Linens," Lambert ground out, sounding about as enthusiastic as... well, as a person driven to the last resort of asking for a witcher's help with an embarrassing problem. 

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," Geralt said. At least he didn't have to work as hard not to be alarming as he would with an ordinary human who wasn't making sense while explaining their problem to him. "Why the fuck would you want that?"

Lambert's scowl deepened. "Why's everybody else want to?"

"Because everyone else thinks they're going to have a good time," Geralt said, bumping his shoulder against Eskel's in illustration--they'd had a pretty good time themselves, back in training. "You look like you're asking me to reset a dislocated joint."

"Ooh, that's a good one," Eskel said, leaning into Geralt in turn. "I said _rebreak a bone that's set crooked_ , but yours is closer."

Lambert still, at the age of seventeen and closing in on Geralt and Eskel's heights, even if he was still a rawboned kid, didn't seem to have mastered no-hands Igni. Just like the first time Geralt had met him, glaring with tangible force, he seemed to be trying his best anyway.

"I want to know," Lambert said grimly. "I want to know and I want them to stop giving me so much fucking shit about it. Now that the little ones are going, it's--"

Lambert shook his head sharply and looked away, folding his arms across his chest, a much more self-consciously defensive pose than Eskel's.

Geralt glanced over at Eskel, who was frowning, dropping his own hands to his sides as the teasing look faded from his expression; maybe he hadn't gotten this much of an answer out of Lambert. The kid did seem to have taken a kind of shine--still angry, but a shine by Lambert's standards--to Geralt. Obviously he'd told Eskel that he was second choice, only getting the job if Geralt didn't show.

Eskel glanced at Geralt, and gave him a little go-ahead nod. 

Geralt sighed. "I know they're your cohort and there isn't a good way to actually shut them up without making it worse, but if they're harassing you--"

Lambert let out a growling sort of scream, only half muffled by the fact that he hadn't opened his mouth. 

Geralt did not press the question further.

"I just want to know," Lambert said grimly. "And if it's not one of you then I'm gonna have to go ask _Olli_ , like I'm twelve years old or some shit."

"Hey, Olli's a good fuck," Geralt said mildly. "He'd probably be really nice about--"

Lambert glared, and Geralt finally got it. Lambert didn't want somebody to be _nice_ about this. He wanted something to push against, someone who'd give him an excuse to kick and scream and snap his teeth all the way down.

"Yeah, sure," Geralt said, giving him a light smack on the shoulder. "Wednesday, right? Might as well get it done first thing. Get it over with."

Lambert's defiance turned visibly hollow at Geralt's capitulation, his expression betraying a hint of uncertainty for the first time.

"Nope, too late, I picked you," Geralt said, giving Lambert a little shove. Even if he was within a year or so of his Trial of the Mountains, and had somewhat more freedom than when he was younger, there was still probably somewhere he was supposed to be and it wasn't making sexual demands of adult witchers in the courtyard. "You try to back out now I'll come find you and drag you to bed by your--" Lambert still wore his hair too short to get a grip on. "Heels. Head bouncing on the stairs the whole way."

Lambert's glare strengthened again, and he snapped, "I'm not backing out. Wednesday," and stomped off like he'd actually gotten the last word there.

Geralt glanced over at Eskel and said, "So how are the odds on me getting stabbed on Wednesday?"

"Not as good as the odds on you getting bitten," Eskel said, tugging him into a brief, hard hug, which Geralt returned with a rush of relief at finally, truly being home. "Can't remember the last time I was this glad to see you, brother."

* * *

It being _not_ Wednesday or Sunday, there was nothing to get in the way of Eskel following Geralt back to his room that night. Even the smirks and eyerolls of the others were routine by now--not a discouragement, just part of winters at Kaer Morhen, like cold stone floors and relentless porridge breakfasts. Eskel sat in front of the fire and helped Geralt sort out all the crap he'd had jammed into his pack and saddlebags on the way home while they talked.

"So," Geralt said, when they'd caught up on the funny parts of what had happened since they'd seen each other last, leaving the shitty parts for later, in the dark. "What were you gonna do with him if I didn't show up?"

Eskel raised his eyebrows, corners of his mouth twitching up. "You gonna crib my strategy before the test?"

"I asked first," Geralt said, grinning back. Eskel would give him shit about it, but if there was any way he could help Geralt keep this from being a disaster, he would do that too.

Eskel shrugged, dropping his gaze back to the potion ingredients he was sorting out. "I didn't have some elaborate plan of attack, just--try not to make it worse than it had to be. Don't let him talk me into doing anything that would hurt him just because he thinks he has to, to make it count."

Geralt nodded. "I guess there's no way to make it good enough that he won't..." Geralt waved a hand. "Be him about it."

Eskel snorted and shook his head. "No. He's gonna keep right on being him, because that's who he is." He looked up at Geralt and added seriously, "I talked a little to some of the others, asked their advice--Olli's, mostly--and... it really is who he is, Geralt. Angry is what he knows how to be. Angry is how he's gonna do this. Even if you get him high enough on sex to relax for an hour or a night, in the morning he's gonna be right back to being the way he knows how to be."

Geralt blew out a breath, grateful and a little embarrassed that Eskel already had an answer for the question Geralt hadn't quite known how to ask. "So it's not... Right. It's one night, it's not gonna change that much. Either way."

Eskel smiled and nudged his knee against Geralt's. "Yeah. Odds are your probability of getting stabbed or bitten isn't really gonna be much different than it would've been anyway, over the whole winter."

"Well, _that's_ reassuring," Geralt said, but it kind of _was_. 

He'd given a handful of boys their first Trial of the Linens by now, and he tried to be careful how he did it, every time. Tried to make it good, make it something they enjoyed. Any other kid, if he'd been angry at Geralt during or after, Geralt would have felt like he'd really fucked it up. Any other kid who was this obviously dubious about the whole thing, Geralt wouldn't ever touch. But Lambert... for better or worse, he was probably going to go right on being Lambert, prickly as a hedgehog and twice as likely to bite. 

It didn't mean Geralt didn't have to be careful. He just might be in the clear to skip tying himself in knots trying to be careful _enough_.

And then Thursday night he'd be right back here with Eskel, who'd laugh at him if he got himself stabbed, but would never poke him in the wounded spot until it was healed.

Geralt fell asleep feeling almost confident that night, curled up with Eskel in the dark, when a pause in their quiet talk about the things they wouldn't bring up in the light stretched far enough to snap the thread entirely.

He woke up in the morning and discovered that he and Eskel weren't even going to get any shit about sharing blankets like a couple of toddlers, because Slava had fallen asleep in Jens' room, and Jens being Jens that meant Slava had slept all night on the _floor_ for _no reason_. He looked nothing but sheepish when they ragged him, which meant he wasn't going to hear the end of it until at least the spring thaw, and maybe beyond. Geralt laughed with his brothers, and didn't worry about tomorrow night.

* * *

Not worrying lasted until dinner Wednesday night, when Lambert wouldn't look up from his food. Micha, beside him, grimaced and shrugged in Geralt's direction, which seemed like a relatively good sign, but Lambert just sat there eating like he thought someone was going to take his food away. Or like he thought Geralt was going to take _him_ away before he could finish it.

Geralt dropped his gaze to his own food and forced himself to eat though his appetite had vanished. There was no way to reassure Lambert right now, no way to prove that he wasn't going to hurt him except by not hurting him.

Eskel leaned into Geralt's shoulder a little without looking over at him, and murmured, "I'm going to take Micha. If we hear Lambert leave, I'll send Micha out at the same time, or... give a yell or come knock, if you think he needs a friend."

Geralt nodded, feeling more relieved than he probably should at the thought that he'd have backup to call on, if this went really badly off-track. He managed to get the rest of his own dinner down, and only looked for Lambert when everyone started getting up from the tables. 

Lambert was looking back at him, stiff and defiant as ever, and Geralt tilted his head in the direction of the witchers' rooms. Lambert would know the way, even if he'd never gone up there himself for something like this, and Geralt wasn't going to go and drag him. He matched his pace to Lambert's as they both navigated through the crowd, so that they met as if naturally at the foot of the stairs. 

Even then, Geralt kept his hands to himself, walking beside Lambert without speaking; when they got to his room, Geralt went in without so much as looking at Lambert, and stood facing away for the few seconds it took Lambert to walk through the door and close it behind him.

"Okay," Geralt said, turning to study Lambert, who stood warily one step in from the door. "I'm going to ask one more time, because it's a different question when there are no witnesses. Do you want to fuck or do you just want your cohort off your back? I'll give you a mark and let you sleep here tonight and back whatever story you tell."

Lambert rolled his eyes and huffed, but Geralt waited him out until he actually said, "I want to do it for real. Fuck for real."

Geralt nodded. "So what's it take to fuck for real, exactly? What's that mean?"

Lambert mostly concealed a flash of actual panic under a glare and sarcasm. "You don't know? I thought you were the experienced one."

Geralt shrugged and sat down on the bed to tug his boots off. Whatever they did, he was at least going to undress that far, and it gave him a reasonable excuse not to look directly at Lambert while he said, "I'm asking what it's going to take for you to get what you want out of this. You need to get fucked up the ass to believe you had a real Trial, or what?"

"It's up to you, isn't it?" Lambert sounded almost belligerent enough to mask the plaintive note in his voice. "You--you do what you want, and that's..."

Geralt stopped, bracing his elbows on his knees and looking over, and up, at Lambert. "You accosted me before I'd even gotten through the doors and told me we were doing this. I figure you have opinions. I'm pretty sure I told you before, I don't fuck people who don't want me to fuck them--I get that 'want' is a relative thing for you here, but we're not going to do anything that's going to hurt you or scare you _and don't fucking tell me you're not scared_ ," Geralt snapped, managing to head off whatever Lambert was opening his mouth to say. 

Lambert subsided, glaring, then went and sat on the floor by the hearth to take his own boots off. So he was willing to commit to that much.

"If all that leaves is stuff where you keep your pants on, or I do, or we both do," Geralt went on, turning his eyes down to his boots again, "we can make that work. Even that stuff is different with someone else, and I am not actually that fucking picky about how I get off, so you're not going to ruin _my_ night."

Lambert made a derisive little noise as he set his boots aside, and Geralt said, "Well, okay, I'm sure you could ruin my night if you put your mind to it. Like, if you convinced me to do something that was going to make you freak out and attack me in the middle of it. That'd probably ruin my night _and_ your night, and put a serious dent in Eskel and Micha's. So what do you think would be... not that?"

Lambert shrugged stiffly and said nothing. 

Geralt gritted his teeth but didn't press, setting his boots neatly aside and taking off his socks, taking off his belt and setting it aside. It was obvious that this wasn't going how Lambert had expected, and the kid needed a little space to rethink his approach.

"What if I wanted to fuck you?" Lambert demanded abruptly, when Geralt had been pretending to ignore him for a solid three minutes.

It was Geralt's turn to shrug and look unimpressed, and he took a vicious pleasure in it. "Okay. I like that. You'll probably like that. Good choice."

Lambert looked stunned and then, of course, suspicious. "You can't..."

Geralt raised his eyebrows.

"You're supposed to get off on whatever we do," Lambert said.

"Yeah," Geralt said, looking Lambert up and down. "And I will, if that's what you want to do. You don't think guys who get fucked get off on it?"

Lambert just glared back at him, and Geralt didn't think it would do any good to ask him what Micha had ever told him about his experiences. Whatever he'd heard, he wasn't convinced, and Geralt wasn't going to convince him now. Not with words. 

"Okay, we'll get to that," Geralt said, pulling his shirt off as casually as if he were about to wash in the courtyard. "You ready to get your dick wet in any way at all?"

Lambert glared at him and did not touch his own shirt. 

Geralt rolled his eyes and flopped down on his bed, sprawling at ease, legs apart, as he got his trousers open and his braies shoved down enough to get his hand on his dick. "I'm not quite, yet," Geralt said. "Somehow this conversation hasn't exactly lit the fires. So I'm gonna take care of this, and you take care of you."

Then Geralt tilted his head back, turning his gaze pointedly away from Lambert, and started moving his hand. He let his thoughts drift forward to the next steps in this trial--and back, to the last time he'd gotten fucked, which had been here at Kaer Morhen. It had been the night before he left for the Trial of the Mountains, in fact, which was a few days before Eskel would go. To prevent them conspiring, Vesemir had said, and even then, furious and dreading the separation, Geralt had to admit the justice of it. If they'd gone together there was no way he and Eskel wouldn't have taken on the trial as a team. They'd had to learn to be alone; that was a witcher's way, after all.

But he wasn't thinking about that, or about all the lonely nights since, hundreds of miles from anyone he could trust that much. He wasn't thinking of strangers, whores, grateful clients, irritated clients who needed to be sweetened up before they paid him... 

None of that mattered right now. Right now Geralt was thinking about being here at Kaer Morhen, in a little room a hundred or so yards from this spot, being opened up by familiar, practiced fingers, and then filled up just right by a hard cock, Eskel's body blanketing his, all warm and sturdy. 

Geralt let out a little sigh as his cock stiffened in his grip, and forced himself to remember that this was part of a plan, not just time for a stupidly nostalgic jerkoff session.

Without moving his head, Geralt peered through his lashes in the direction of Lambert's not-quite-silent breathing. He was leaning against the wall by the hearth, pants open just as far as Geralt's were. He had his dick out, his eyes squeezed shut tight as he stroked it. It didn't look like he'd had any more trouble getting it up than Geralt had, once he wasn't too busy pretending not to be scared to have room for anything else.

That meant it ought to be safe to move things along a little; Geralt was willing to be as patient as he had to be, but he didn't want to drag this out forever. The more time he took the more time Lambert would have to find some new way to throw sand in the gears.

Geralt shoved his pants down further, making enough noise as he kicked them off to be sure that Lambert would know what he'd done. Geralt kept his head tipped back, not looking anywhere near Lambert, as if Geralt getting naked had absolutely nothing to do with him. 

He left it at that for a little while, just lying on the bed with his legs splayed out, jerking himself off with one hand, the other playing idly with his balls. As if that was all he'd wanted, as if this wouldn't go any further. He kept at it, pacing himself carefully so he wouldn't get lost in what he was doing, and listened until Lambert started breathing, and jerking off, again.

When Lambert had gotten into a rhythm, speeding up a little with a teenage boy's eagerness, Geralt moved on to the next step. He drew his legs up and took his hand off his balls to grab the salve pot he'd left in easy reach. Lambert went absolutely still and silent, until Geralt brought two slick fingers down to his own hole and started rubbing himself--then the kid made a choked little noise of disbelief.

Geralt snorted softly but kept his eyes shut, concentrating. It had been a long time, and now that he was trying to get into the right mindset to let himself be fucked, he was thinking he should have realized how this would go and practiced last night, or the last two nights. 

Eskel could have helped; he would have understood the need. If Geralt had just asked, he would have--they could have--

Geralt couldn't think about that now. He had to make this work here and now, had to find a way to _like_ it, or he wasn't going to get anywhere with Lambert. And he'd promised to give Lambert a Trial, so he had to get it done.

Geralt emptied his mind, halfway to meditating, until he was barely conscious of anything but his breathing and the tensing and relaxing of muscles. He gasped a little when his fingertips slipped inside; he hadn't forgotten what that felt like, exactly, but the memory was nothing like feeling it again when he was so intently focused on his own body. 

He wriggled a little, getting the angle right. He hadn't often done this for himself--he thought of the trial he'd persuaded Jens to give him, the night he'd learned to ask _what is it you need to feel like you've done this_. He tried to make his mind blank again before he could think of what had come after that. 

But the thought wouldn't leave him, the comparison of that night to this one--and this time he was supposed to be the one in control, the one who knew what he was doing and could guide Lambert safely through it. He felt a flicker of something like panic, and gave up on not thinking; instead he opened his eyes and focused on the person he needed to be thinking about.

Lambert had fallen still, but he was staring at Geralt without pretense now, his eyes so firmly fixed on the movement of Geralt's fingers that Geralt didn't even know if Lambert had noticed Geralt looking back. Geralt felt instantly calm, knowing that this was actually working--he was drawing Lambert in despite himself. They could both get through this more or less unscathed, if Geralt just stuck to the plan. 

_Make Lambert come a few times and then send him back to the dorm with Micha for moral support_ wasn't his most precise plan of attack ever, but he'd pulled off worse ones.

Geralt watched Lambert's pupils widen, turning his amber cat's eyes to pools of darkness. He kept the motion of his own hands steady, waiting until he saw Lambert start to jerk himself in the same rhythm that Geralt was working his own fingers in and out of his ass. That meant he was picturing the next step, whether he was entirely aware of what he was doing or not, so Geralt could push him a little.

"Come here," Geralt said, his own voice coming out a little rough and breathless. 

Lambert froze, wide eyes jerking up at last to meet Geralt's, and Geralt managed to smirk even if he knew his own eyes would show that he was just about as far into it as Lambert was. 

"You should be learning to do this part," Geralt said. "Even if you don't ever care for getting fucked, we're not sending you out into the world not knowing how to fuck somebody without hurting them, and that means doing your own prep. Come on."

Geralt saw a spasm of mulishness pass over Lambert's face--the second when he realized he was being given an order and automatically resisted, before he realized what he was being told to do. Then stubbornness was replaced by a flicker of uncertainty, almost immediately eclipsed by determination.

That was something Geralt could work with, in a kid in his first Trial--definitely an improvement over hostility and refusing to engage. 

"See what I'm doing?" Geralt asked, and this time he managed the cool instructive tone he was aiming for. "There's two parts to it--spreading the slick around, and getting the muscle to relax and loosen up. Important for us, especially--a witcher holding tight is gonna hurt himself _and_ you if you try to shove in there too fast. But humans need it, too--you can hurt them a hell of a lot worse than you can one of us."

Lambert came over and knelt beside the bed, so Geralt hooked a heel over the edge and shifted himself closer. Lambert's eyes stayed absolutely fixed on the motion of Geralt's fingers.

"Get some slick," Geralt prompted, easing his own fingers out. "Come on."

Lambert's wide eyes flicked up to meet Geralt's, and then over to the salve pot, which he stared at for a few seconds like it might bite. Geralt could see the muscle in his jaw shift as he clenched his teeth, reaching over for it. 

He coated two fingers pretty liberally, and brought his hand back, nearly to where it would do some good, before he looked up and met Geralt's eyes again. 

"Start with a soft touch," Geralt prompted, having an absurd flash of memory of Master Alwyn teaching them to gauge the ripeness of fruit or mushrooms to be harvested as potion ingredients. "Feel how much resistance you get. Don't use more force than you need."

Lambert nodded with an intent, nearly studious expression that suggested he was hearing the same echo in Geralt's words, and then Geralt felt the first touch of slick fingers where he'd already been working himself open. There was a light, circling pressure, gradually strengthening--the kid had good hands--and then two fingertips inside him, and a little cut-off noise from Lambert that made Geralt bite down hard on his tongue to keep from smiling.

Just in time; Lambert glanced up and met his eyes with his still just barely inside.

"Good," Geralt said. "Checking in's important. You know how the muscle feels, but, especially for humans, that's not always going to tell you if they want you to stop or they like it or what."

Lambert blinked at him, glanced down at his fingers, and said in a quiet, hoarse voice, "Do you..."

"Good, asking's important too. I like this so far," Geralt added, not forcing Lambert to actually articulate a question. "I want you to keep going."

Lambert gave a jerky nod and then visibly took a breath, centering himself, before pressing in further. 

Geralt's eyes went a little unfocused, but he managed to make an encouraging noise that didn't sound too much like a moan, as Lambert experimented, twisting and curling his fingers. "That's--that spot, feel--nngh--"

Lambert rubbed deliberately over his prostate, looking amused. "You like that?"

Geralt took a deep, deliberate breath, and reminded himself that Lambert being pleased with this whole experience was the goal, even if it meant letting this child feel superior about something for a little while. 

"Pretty much any guy who likes getting fucked likes that. It's a gland, you can look it up in the anatomy books in the library, some of them fall right open to it. It's--" Lambert stroked again, teasing, and Geralt shut his eyes and just felt it until Lambert stopped. "Sensitive," Geralt went on, letting out his breath. "You give a shit about making it good for a guy you're fucking--and _you'd better_ \--you make sure he's getting as much of that as he wants."

Lambert curled his fingertips over that spot one more time, smirking, then said, "How much do you want, then?"

"That's enough," Geralt said, and, before the kid could decide to push it, teasing further because it'd be funny, he added firmly, "That means _stop_."

Lambert's fingers went stone-still, and Lambert stared up at him with wide amber eyes. 

Geralt watched him _get it_ : that Geralt had told him no and he almost hadn't listened. That doing this, even with someone he couldn't truly hurt, meant he had to take care not to become someone who forced the person they were in bed with to do something they didn't want. That it was easier to be that person than he'd thought it was, up until right now; that he could be in danger of forcing and being forced, both, and had to guard against both. 

Well, that was about half of Geralt's job done--an advantage, maybe, of doing this with a kid whose first time came when he was old enough to think this stuff through. Maybe just an advantage of doing this with a kid who was already pretty wound up on the topic of who got forced.

"Good," Geralt said briskly, like nothing too important had just happened. "Still could use some more work on stretching and slick, just don't focus on that spot. You can go to three fingers, that'll help."

Lambert gave a jerky little nod and grabbed the salve pot, managing to add more slick without fully withdrawing his first two fingers from Geralt's ass. He pushed in carefully, gaze flicking from Geralt's ass to his face, gauging his reaction as he started to work his fingers in and out, twisting and cautiously stretching. 

Geralt nodded encouragement. He let his eyes close and his lips part, focusing on the feeling and searching himself for that moment, that sense of yielding enough, being open enough. When he got there, it was one of those things that he couldn't have missed, that felt so exactly right there was no mistaking it.

"Okay," Geralt said, and Lambert froze again. Geralt smiled. "Good. Next step, now. You hard? Good to go?"

Lambert's cheeks flushed a sudden, vivid pink, and Geralt guessed that if his hard-on had flagged any in the last few minutes, it had come roaring back at the reminder of what they were preparing for. He looked a little nervous all over again, and Geralt let himself grin, showing all his teeth. "Don't worry about coming too quick, I'm sure you can keep going past the first time."

"I, uh--" Lambert swallowed visibly, and Geralt would bet his voice had nearly cracked there. "Yeah. I. Okay."

Geralt let his smile shrink to something more friendly than predatory and reached down to nudge Lambert's hand away from his ass. He twisted up onto his knees, grabbed the salve from Lambert's sagging grip, and gestured to the bed. "Come on, pup, we're not doing this on the floor."

Lambert barely flashed his teeth at that _pup_ and scrambled up onto the bed, wriggling a little but not really pushing back when Geralt pressed him down on his back. His dick was standing up at an angle, flushed dark with blood. It was a nice size, nothing he was going to get defensive about or Geralt would struggle to get himself off on, which was kind of a relief.

Geralt knelt over him and Lambert squeezed his eyes shut. Geralt huffed softly and bent enough to lay a hand on the kid's skinny chest, feeling the pounding of Lambert's heart against his palm. "You gonna come if I slick you up?"

Lambert cracked one eye open; after a second Geralt saw stubbornness crack through the pure dazed overload, and he gritted his teeth and said, "No."

"Okay if I do, then?" Geralt checked, _mostly_ out of sincere concern for Lambert's wishes. 

Lambert gave a jerky nod, baring his teeth as he did. 

Geralt returned the silent snarl as he dipped his fingers in the salve pot, and he got Lambert wet with a couple of fast, tight strokes, hopefully just harsh enough to back him off a little. The choked-off noise he made in response could have meant anything.

"Okay," Geralt said as he moved himself into position straddling Lambert's hips--a last warning for both of them--and then he sank down onto Lambert's cock.

His own breath caught at the sensation, so familiar and so startlingly new all at once; luckily Lambert went completely rigid under him, eyes squeezed shut, so he didn't have to worry about keeping his cool in front of the kid. Geralt took a few careful breaths of his own, settling his body. He got there before Lambert had unclenched or opened his eyes, so Geralt grinned and started rocking his hips, finding the best angle for this. At the same time he clenched down on Lambert's dick, trying to remember the trick of that rippling motion that used to--

Lambert's eyes flashed open, his hips bucked up, and he came, his face flooding scarlet. almost perfectly in time to the spurting of his cock. 

This next part was where it could get tricky, although Geralt suspected that Lambert being a high-strung sex-starved seventeen-year-old witcher was going to do most of the work for him. Still, he clenched down tight on Lambert's cock before it could begin to soften, the kind of pressure that was a little painful for both of them. 

Geralt's own cock got, if anything, harder as that too-much burn ran through him. It definitely wasn't a _bad_ kind of pain, even if he wasn't free to relax and enjoy it. He leaned back just slightly--oh, there, that was the angle he was going to want, when he wanted to come himself--and reached behind himself to find Lambert's balls, just easing from the tautness of coming. He let them rest against his palm and stroked one fingertip, ever so lightly, over the spot just behind.

Lambert made an incoherent noise and jerked again, and Geralt raised his eyebrows and said, "Ready to be done?"

Lambert blinked at him for a second, dazed, and then visibly pulled himself together, shaping his mouth into a sneer. "Not a chance." He rolled his hips up into Geralt, even if Geralt's internal muscles still gripped Lambert's cock so tightly that it hardly budged inside him. 

Geralt grinned back, entirely sincerely, barely holding back a laugh of delight. 

Right then, somehow, it struck him: Lambert was going to be his brother before too long. A kid this tenaciously angry about _getting to fuck for the first time_ wasn't going to let anything else slow him down much; as much as it was ever safe to expect anything, Geralt was suddenly sure he could expect to be seeing that determinedly unimpressed look for a lot of years to come. 

Lambert just scowled harder at Geralt's grin, no doubt thinking that he was being laughed at rather than just being an unexpected source of delight. Well, Lambert would figure it out eventually, probably. Or else he'd still be snapping and snarling when they were all old men at Kaer Morhen, shaking their heads at the newest crop of bright-eyed boys.

"All right, not stopping," Geralt said, keeping any hint of laughter out of his voice. He eased his internal grip a little and stroked that spot behind Lambert's balls again, and felt Lambert's cock jerk inside him. 

Yeah, this wasn't going to be a problem at all. 

"Come on, your turn to do a little work," Geralt said, rocking his hips. "Show me what you've got, young wolf."

He'd aimed that one right; Lambert accepted the challenge without being really pissed off by it. He started pushing up experimentally, bracing his elbows and heels for better leverage as he got a tentative rhythm going. Geralt kept his own movements minimal, smoothing out awkward angles, meeting thrusts with his own reaction, just to encourage him to keep at it. This angle wasn't doing much for him, but it wasn't _bad_ , and he couldn't really say it was boring, either, when he was watching Lambert figure out the mechanics of fucking.

And feeling it. Now that he was getting fucked halfway properly, Geralt couldn't think why he'd gone so long without this. It might or might not be better than doing sex the other way, but it was a whole different way to feel good that he'd nearly forgotten, a pleasure that curled inside him, deep and secret and close. It wasn't the way he'd have wanted to have sex with practically any of the humans he'd met in the last several years, but there had been so many winter nights when he could have had this. "Oh, oh _fuck_ that's good."

Lambert grinned, almost not angrily at all, obviously detecting the complete sincerity of Geralt's words. Geralt couldn't help smiling back and tilting his hips just so as he tightened himself around the steady thrusting of Lambert's cock. Lambert's eyes went wider, his smile collapsing into a gasp, and then he was pushing up harder, faster, and Geralt was gasping too, as Lambert started hitting that spot, sending sharper pleasure darting through him.

Geralt shifted position to lessen the sensation, but Lambert grabbed his hips and curled under him, finding the angle again, and then they were tussling as much as fucking, fighting to make each other come, or at least come _first_. Geralt did win that much, at least, but as Lambert's hips jerked spasmodically into him, jabbing his cock right _there_ as he came, he gave up resisting. 

He'd wanted Lambert to know a guy could enjoy getting fucked, hadn't he? Geralt let his head hang for a moment as the climax shook through him--another thing that felt different from having sex any other way. All that focused pleasure, down deep inside, crystallized into something that felt like more than just coming, like something that could break him open. It left him feeling raw, like he'd just downed some combination of potions that had all his senses heightened almost to the point of pain.

He let out a sharp little gasp when Lambert--still hard, or hard again--jerked up under him, pushing his cock deep and hitting spots that were more sensitive than ever. Lambert gave him another fierce grin, more pleased with himself than ever; clearly the kid was up for round three. 

Of course he'd be willing to call it done if Geralt said so, but that would mean Lambert _won_ , and however much it made him feel like he was coming apart at the seams, Geralt couldn't let _that_ happen. He let out a little snarl and pitched forward, adjusting the angle of Lambert's cock to something slightly less maddening as he dropped his hands onto Lambert's shoulders, pinning him in place.

"You wanna go again?" Geralt demanded, already working internal muscles on Lambert's cock. 

Lambert's grin lost a little of its ferocity, his eyes going wider, but he nodded quickly, and Geralt didn't wait for anything more. He started moving, not too fast or forcefully, but with brutal efficiency, using exactly the movements that had gotten the sharpest reactions from Lambert so far. He needed Lambert to come fast, because--Geralt just wanted to be done, that was all. 

He didn't let himself really feel the sensations generated, didn't let himself do anything but ruthlessly push Lambert toward another orgasm. That was all he wanted to do here. That was what it was about, just... getting Lambert off, proving to him that this could be good. 

It felt like it took an age, though given teenage witcher responses it was surely less than a quarter-hour. After the first few minutes Lambert started writhing under him, not trying to take control or escape, but so overwhelmed by sensation that he had to let it shake through his entire body. He clawed at Geralt purposelessly, raking his nails over Geralt's thighs and sides, digging them into his arms only to let go so he could move more. Geralt welcomed the pain, the contrast to everything else he wasn't letting himself feel; the evidence that he was driving Lambert out of his mind was also a positive.

Lambert didn't last too long, after that, and Geralt rode out every last spasm until Lambert went limp under him. Then he knelt up, disengaging them with a wet little sound that made Lambert twitch, eyes going wide.

"You want to go again, we're trading places," Geralt said, keeping his own face blank against the wet, empty feeling and the distinct sensation of something trickling down the inside of his thigh.

Geralt raised his eyebrows, as if he needed an answer, but Lambert shook his head, still looking dazed. "I'm... I'm done. If you're done."

"Done, then," Geralt agreed. He pushed up and off the bed, going to where he'd left a dagger and the pot of Seal for this moment, along with a towel. When he returned to prop one knee on the edge of the bed and tossed the cloth to him, Lambert pulled himself together enough to sit up and turned his back expectantly, and Geralt went through the well-practiced routine, cutting a neat tally mark and smearing the salve over it almost before it had time to bleed.

Lambert hissed as the scar closed before Geralt's eyes, and Geralt smiled a little, remembering that burn. Lambert scooted away from him, twisting back around to face Geralt and looking more in control, if still a little lost. 

"You wanna cuddle?" Geralt prompted, just enough edge in his tone to assure that the answer would be no even if Lambert had, for some reason, been inclined to go for it. "Spend the night, try some more in the morning?"

Lambert rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and started collecting his clothes. "Thanks," he mumbled, looking away. "That was... you didn't have to do it like that, so. Thanks. It was good."

"Good," Geralt said, and felt the frantic tension in himself unwinding a notch. "I'm glad. Next time you can try figuring things out with Micha or somebody, huh?"

Lambert darted a glance back at him and shrugged, not quite as stiffly as an hour before, as he tugged his trousers up. "Maybe. I'll... Is he..."

"Next door," Geralt said, tilting his head toward Eskel's room on the other side of the wall. "Just knock, Eskel'll send him out to you and you can compare notes. Go find something to drink. Whatever you kids do."

Lambert snorted, whether at Geralt trying to guess at the lives of boys in training or at the idea that Geralt was old enough not to vividly remember being in their shoes, Geralt wasn't sure. Lambert turned away, though, slipping out and shutting the door firmly behind him without looking back, so Geralt could drop the dagger and the salve pot and let himself curl down on the bed. He could finally let go of the desperate control he'd been holding against... he still wasn't sure what, only that he had had to make sure Lambert didn't see it.

He closed one fist around a fold of the sheets and let himself gasp for breath like he wanted to, let his body shudder and the rush of sensations belatedly register. He was barely aware of the sounds from outside--a knock at a door, quickly opened, low voices and footsteps retreating. 

Then the door to Geralt's room opened without anyone bothering to knock, and a familiar step crossed the threshold and stopped there. Geralt pushed up on an elbow, looking over his shoulder at Eskel and shaking his head at the grim look of concern he knew he'd find even before he looked. "He was fine. It was fine. Didn't even bite."

Eskel didn't look reassured, and Geralt shook his head and gave up, dropping his forehead to rest against the sheets. He felt every step of Eskel's approach, but still twitched when Eskel's hand landed against his side. He kept perfectly still with an effort, breathing in measured intervals, as Eskel's hand slid down--over several livid scratches--to his hip. "The fuck did you let him do, Geralt?"

Geralt shook his head again but still didn't look. "He didn't do shit. I rode him until he tapped out. It's... been a while, that's all."

Eskel let out a sharp little sigh, and his hand slid down further, over Geralt's thigh, setting off a thousand memories of Eskel's touch. 

It had been so fucking long since Eskel had touched him like this, and right then Geralt couldn't think of a single reason why. He raised his own hand and felt the submerged trembling in every muscle as he moved, but he didn't let himself shake as he laid his hand over Eskel's. He meant to move it, but didn't know where he actually wanted it; when Eskel slid his hand back up to Geralt's hip, Geralt let his own touch ride along without resistance. 

"Tell me you remembered to get yourself off, at least," Eskel murmured, nearly a growl, and Geralt did push then, guiding Eskel's hand in from his hip. He couldn't quite bring Eskel's hand to his cock, but Eskel kept moving when Geralt faltered, closing his hand around Geralt's sticky, half-hard length and making him hiss. Geralt tightened his hand around Eskel's at the same time, so he wouldn't pull away. 

He didn't think he could bear Eskel pulling away from right now, even an inch.

Geralt wriggled a little, unable to resist now that it was safe to do what he pleased. He let himself acknowledge how oversensitive he felt, every touch magnified, every lightest contact on the verge of breaking something open in him. Geralt curled, reaching up with his other hand to grab at Eskel, to pull him still closer somehow. Eskel didn't even wait for Geralt to get a grip on him before he moved, pushing Geralt further onto the bed and stretching out behind him, leaning to press Geralt into the mattress.

Geralt gasped at the feeling of that familiar weight on him, the warm rush of Eskel's breath on the sweaty skin at the nape of his neck. "Eskel, you--I want--" Geralt wriggled his hips, pressing back against Eskel when he couldn't form the words.

"Geralt--"

" _Please_ ," Geralt breathed, nearly too desperate to remember that he should be better than this now, stronger. But it was Eskel, so what did that matter? "I--fuck, I didn't remember how much I missed this. Missed _you_ , but--the whole time he was... all I wanted was you."

Eskel had one arm under Geralt's head, and he pressed that hand to Geralt's cheek, forcing him to turn his head and look up, to meet Eskel's eyes. Geralt did, for just a second, and--it was just Eskel, just the same eyes he had always known, but--

Eskel wouldn't refuse him. Eskel wouldn't refuse him _anything_. But he wouldn't ask, either. Even letting Geralt see this much was daring a lot, and if Geralt had been any less raw he might still have looked past it, as he had always ignored any hint before. As Eskel had ignored the same from him, when they both knew that they were supposed to be past this now that they were grown.

Not tonight. Geralt twisted toward him, getting a hand on the nape of Eskel's neck to keep him in place as Geralt's mouth crashed against his. 

Eskel let out a little grunt, as if Geralt had punched him. For a few seconds it felt like that, like they were just pushing and shoving at each other in a different way, but then Eskel tilted his head just so. Their lips slotted together, parted, and they were _kissing_. 

Geralt let out a little sound that might possibly have been a whine, and Eskel just pushed closer, pressing him down into the bed on his back this time, holding him in place. Covering him. But Eskel couldn't protect him from knowing that there was a good reason they'd never done this before.

It felt much, much too right.

Geralt had kissed plenty of people before, and he'd liked it with most of them. But kissing Eskel was like... he suddenly knew what kissing was _for_ , because they snapped together like two halves of a whole, sharing breath as they had always shared everything else. Geralt started pushing at Eskel's clothes, the last barrier between them, and it was Eskel's turn to make an unhappy soft noise against Geralt's lips.

But a few seconds later he pulled back just enough to haul his shirt off while Geralt shoved his pants down, and then they could kiss again through the last few motions it took to get Eskel properly naked. Geralt shuddered at the familiar press of Eskel's cock against him, and wriggled indecisively, trying to decide how he wanted this.

Then Eskel's hand closed hard on his thigh and tugged it up, making Eskel's intention obvious: he meant to do it just like this, with Geralt under him. Facing him, with no room to hide. Geralt jerked back instinctively, only to find himself looking into Eskel's eyes again.

Eskel went still, looking back, with the faintest sign of a question in the tension of his brows, though his gaze was as steady as ever. Still, Geralt could read him as clearly as he ever had. _I won't hold anything back from you. Will you keep this from me?_

Geralt shook his head a little, feeling trapped and helpless and as safe as he'd ever been, here at Kaer Morhen, in bed with his oldest friend. He curled both legs up around Eskel's hips, giving him the angle, and Eskel dove in for another kiss, just as hungry as the first. Geralt meant to keep that connection this time, but he couldn't help a gasp as Eskel's cock entered him.

Eskel stilled, making a tiny questioning sound against the corner of Geralt's mouth, and Geralt shook his head and tightened his legs around Eskel, spurring him on. Eskel pushed deeper, but slowly, and Geralt bit his lip to keep silent at the feeling of it, so familiar and so new after all this time--and so _much_ , when he already felt so open, so sensitive to every touch. 

Eskel laughed, almost a growl, against his cheek, as he pressed all the way in. "Fuck, Geralt, you feel so--"

Geralt twisted his head, snapping his teeth harmlessly at Eskel--but that let out the moan he'd been trying to hold back. 

"So good," Eskel muttered, catching Geralt's mouth in another kiss, or series of them, breaking and pushing back together. "So fuckin' easy for me, huh? Nothing to keep me out."

Geralt grunted and tried biting down on _Eskel's_ lip, which won him a sharp little thrust of Eskel's cock. Eskel was sliding in so easily on leftover slick and Lambert's come, but it was still true. Nothing in Geralt wanted to hold out against this. 

"Good," Eskel breathed, and then he picked his head up and braced a hand by Geralt's shoulder so he could really move. 

Geralt shut his eyes tight and let his mouth fall open, let every stupid sound escape as Eskel fucked him, as the already-too-much feeling of it only kept spiraling higher and higher. He stopped breathing as it broke over him, his cock spurting against Eskel's belly as his ass clenched around Eskel's cock, setting off further bursts of pleasure-pain when he was already hurtling off the edge.

He was dimly aware, in all of that, of Eskel fucking him, a few last rough strokes. Geralt was barely done himself before Eskel was groaning and coming, his forehead coming to rest against Geralt's cheek.

"Fuck," Geralt muttered, when they'd both been still a little while, their breathing settling down to a matching steady pace. 

Eskel laughed almost silently again. "Got that right."

Geralt snorted and tried to kick him, but he didn't have an angle worth a damn. Then Eskel started to pull away from him, and Geralt was struck with something like _terror_ , something he'd rarely felt, at the thought that Eskel might just leave him here. He might not have felt any of what Geralt felt, or known what it meant. 

Whatever that even was. Geralt couldn't begin to put words to it, with his brain scrambled by this overload of sensation. He just knew that he'd thought he and Eskel shared something, and if they hadn't--

But Eskel stopped when he felt Geralt react, humming a soothing little note, and pressed kisses to his temple, his cheek, and then his mouth when Geralt turned toward the touch. "Let me clean you up, huh? Then I'll come back and squish you into the sheets all night if you want."

Geralt let out a short, hoarse laugh at that, and a moment later he managed to actually unlock his legs from around Eskel to let him up. He'd forgotten--made himself forget--how many nights they'd spent like that, especially in the last months before the Trial of the Mountains. Before the end of what they'd been together, as boys at Kaer Morhen. In his bed or Eskel's, Geralt had pulled Eskel on top of him like another blanket, only able to sleep with that familiar weight holding him down.

True to his word, Eskel went only as far as the wash bucket, and came back with a damp cloth, scrubbing it absently over his belly and cock before he knelt between Geralt's splayed thighs and wiped him clean in a few careful passes. Then he tossed the cloth away to stretch out over Geralt again, heavy and warm, and kissed him before Geralt could wonder whether he would.

"Guess we're done pretending we didn't want to be doing this all along?" Geralt muttered, when he had the fraction of an inch he needed to speak.

Eskel huffed against his mouth, making his lips tingle more than they already were. "Guess we are. And no point pretending to anybody else, either."

Geralt groaned, tipping his head back, at the thought of tomorrow's breakfast. And weapons training. And map study. And... tomorrow, generally, with all his brothers knowing exactly where he and Eskel had spent the night and what they'd done with at least some of their time together.

"Did Slava take anybody up tonight?" Geralt asked, remembering the cover he and Eskel had been inadvertently granted before.

Eskel snorted, settling more firmly over him. "Nope. He and Jens still take the prize for... whatever that is."

"Hm," Geralt said. He knew Jens and Slava wouldn't really mind whatever shit they got, anymore than he and Eskel would, but... whatever they were doing was something important enough to put up with all that shit for. Maybe they shouldn't have to. "We should go again in the morning. Leave some marks, too."

Eskel scraped his teeth against Geralt's throat. "Don't think the betting pool pays out if you _ask_ to be bitten."

"Good thing you didn't bet against me, then," Geralt muttered, not needing Eskel's sleepy hum of agreement to know he was right. No one would even take their bets against each other; they would automatically assume it was a scheme between them. In fact...

"Y'know," Eskel mumbled, echoing Geralt's thoughts, "I don't think anyone's actually gonna be surprised."

Geralt hummed back, considering just how obvious they'd need to be to get their brothers' attention, then, and fell asleep before any suggestions made it out of his mouth. 

That was all right; Eskel would know.


End file.
